On Diaries and Invasion of Privacy (AKA Young Love, One Yummy Motherfucker and Blogging)

Journaling has always had a significant pull for me. I don’t remember the first time I asked for my own diary, but I know I was little. Even as a child, I was highly introverted and recognized I needed an outlet for my thoughts. Writing would be a way to process the world and my place in it, or so I thought.

Writing My Heart Out

I did pretty a pretty good job of keeping a regular, (semi-)daily diary up until junior high school. I was around twelve years old when I threw in the towel (the first time). That’s when my asshole brother violated my privacy and trust. I don’t remember whether I’ve assigned a name for him yet, so for now let’s just call him B. For Brother. Or Butthole. Take your pick (both will work in a pinch) (eww pinched butthole).

So there I was, journaling my angsty little heart out. About school. About bullies. About shame. About public humiliation. About depression. About music. About boys. Oh yeah. I wrote about boys: two boys in particular. One was a crush I’d had for two years already (who would later become boyfriend, then spouse, then shhh I don’t wanna talk about that right now). I talked about that one a lot. Oh what a crush I had for that little bad boy. And the other was for one who would be my first boyfriend.

Miguel looked just like this. Only twelve. But still yummy. (Shut up, I was twelve. It wasn’t perverted to find a fellow preteen yummy.)I’ve mentioned him before. What the hell did I call him? Shit. (No, I most certainly did not dub him Shit. What was it? Fuck me, I forget.) (I totally need a system for this.) Let’s call him Miguel. Oh Miguel, you yummy thing you. He looked just like Anthony Kiedis, and I was So Fucking Smitten.

And before those of you keeping up jump to conclusions – he is not the reason I’m a diehard RHCP fan. I need to write about that soon, but for now – no. Miguel has nothing to do with that. We were way more into Nirvana and Pearl Jam and Green Day at the time. For some reason RHCP wasn’t huge among my little group. So they were mine alone. Anyway. Digressing.

But. P.S. Miguel still looks like that. Fucker. Anyway, so we were twelve, and I had such an overpowering, all-consuming crush on him that I sometimes lay awake nights thinking about him. We hung out together all the time. Listening to music, smoking pot, talking about life and parents and school. His mom was totally whack. I mean seriously. I smoked pot with her. When I was twelve. Yeah. But Miguel and his sister weren’t allowed to. Miguel never got much into it, but I would sneak a toke a lot. He really was a good boy – he was then and, based on everything I’ve heard through the grapevine over the years, he still is.

All of those thoughts and experiences were in my diary. So were the details of the day he finally asked me to “go with” him, and how excited and nervous and scared I was. My first real boyfriend! Elementary Mario had no idea he was my boyfriend, so that didn’t really count. (Shut up. It totally counts.) Miguel and I were only a thing for about two weeks. Three, tops. It was awkward, and he wasn’t ready for a girlfriend. I was all in, but he wasn’t ready. At least that’s what he told me later, and I believed him because he didn’t have a serious girlfriend for at least a couple more years. (It didn’t help that his best friend kept making fun of him about us – I mean hardcore, too. That butthole. He ended up being a crackhead. That’s what you get!) (And, I will confess it crushed my soul when I found out Miguel finally slept with some girl at a party he went to freshman year. Casey, you bitch.)

But that two weeks was enough for my diary to fill with the sordid details of kissing in his bed (on top of the covers) and how it felt when his hand went up my shirt. (He had even asked permission.) I’m certain that book was filled to the brim with award-winning writing and frameable art (who wouldn’t want to frame hearts and arrows adorned with Miguel & Stephanie 4-Ever?)

It broke my heart when he broke up with me, saying it was too awkward and he’d waited too long and now it felt like he was kissing his sister because of how close we were as buddies. He was sweet about it, and we miraculously remained friends until I moved away (to a different apartment complex).

Attack of the Pinched Butthole Brother

At some point after Miguel broke my heart and my crush moved back to the bad boy, B found my diary. I thought I was being clever when I hid it between my mattress and the box-frame. I hadn’t yet seen all those movies where every kid in the history of fuckingever uses that as a hiding space.

Not only did B find it, oh no. He also had to read it. And he was not content to stop there, either. I came home from school one day, and B and his bitchass pal, let’s call him “Bitch”..you know..for bitch, were already there, playing video games (on my NES, damnit). And oh the devilish smirk that plastered itself across B’s face when I walked through the door.

You know what’s coming, don’t you? Then I shall spare you the suspense. B stood up, diary in hand, and commenced to reading it aloud while his bitchass pal, Bitch, literally pointed and laughed at me. He even had the audacity to hold his sides, laughing so hard it hurt. B really outdid himself, too, drawing out the loooooooooves and even holding the diary up and pointing at the hearts for all the world Bitch to see.

I hated him with an unmatched fury. Both of them. And I told them so, through screamy sobs.

I hate you! I HATE YOU! GIVE IT BACK!

When I finally snatched it away from him, I promptly ripped it to shreds. In his defense (the only one I’ll allow him here), he tried to make me stop. But it was his fucking fault; he’s the one who drove me to do it. I probably would have done it one day, anyway. I hadn’t kept any of the previous diaries, because I always felt childish, stupid and vapid. But this was different. This was the first time I’d had the privacy of a diary breached (the first time to my knowledge, anyway). I tore that bitch to pieces, marched it straight down to the apartment dumpster, came back upstairs and cried and cried of embarrassment and shame and hurt feelings and rage.

And Then There was You

I was mortified. Completely mortified. And I’ve had a pretty fucked up track record with diaries/journals ever since. I tried again a couple years later, but then my mother found it. B wasn’t living with us at the time, so I tried the same hiding spot again. Different apartment, same fucking spot. So fucking naive. Oh yeah, she found it. And for the first time in months decided to speak to me. Well, more like sobbing in my general direction. I lied to her about sex. I hadn’t had sex at that point, but I had gotten very fucking close. I told her those were just fantasies. She believed it. Probably because she was living in her head, anyway, and was willing to believe whatever made her life easier to live. I could have told her anything, and it wouldn’t have changed our relationship or her life. No matter what I told her, she was going to spend her home time crying in bed. So I made it easy,

I can’t believe you read that. But it isn’t true. None of it is true. Don’t worry.

And then I shredded it. I tried again a few years later, when I was living with the bad boy. But he always insisted I read the entries to him. So it was more a log of my life as one-half of a couple. It lacked depth and fullness, but I was happier then, for a long time. I still felt like I needed my own space, but I never got it (not that I pushed for it). I still have a few of them, all with twenty to thirty pages filled. But then I stopped for good, because they weren’t really mine. Not fully.

Two of them I could easily get to. Isn’t that blue one gorgeous?I tried a couple of blogs over the years. But I always bulldozed them. Never felt good enough or safe enough. But the itch, the need has never left me. The need to purge my thoughts, get them down and out. Work out the meaning of the world, or at least my place in it. In writing.

And then there was you. I’m finally sticking with it. And while I know I haven’t been with you long, believe me when I say this is what Stephanie sticking with it looks like. I also know this is far riskier than a little paper journal hiding in my bed or underwear drawer. Yet this blog is giving me something additional that no diary ever could: accountability, community, commiseration and dare I say it? Friendship. So, for now at least, I’ve decided the dangers of discovery are worth it.

Loved reading your diary history. I remember using the same spot for hiding *ahem* other things, only to have them discovered. Did it stop me from using that hiding spot? Nope. Anyway, I look forward to checking in on your virtual equivalent of the box-spring hiding place and reading your blog. 🙂

You my friend, are owning it like a rockstar. Do you know how F’n incredible that is. We can all relate because we were there, getting our hearts broken, dealing with the douchery of brothers and their ahole friends, and so much more. Yes boy above is quite the yummy specimen…Yay you. I am so happy to see you back in force here and the nice thing about this place is that you can be yourself. I think the best thing I learned in life is, once you own your truth, no one can ever take it away from you. By releasing even in words the way you felt/feel, whether you think anyone is laughing or not, it won’t kill you, and it may sting for awhile but you know what? You are the better person for being honest and standing up to the crap. There are so many people in this world living a life that’s a lie, but not you. You own it and you are rocking it and you will realize in the long run, you are the bigger and better person for it. Wow, I’m still laughing and am so honored to be a friend, truly madly and nutty too….:) peace and love, K

I was having a pretty shitty day yesterday, but I tried really hard to break free of it. And then I thought about Miguel. Bam – I had a post! And the more I wrote, the better I felt. I’m trying to think of something I can write today to schedule for morning. It hasn’t hit me yet. But there’s still time. We’ll see!

P.S. If I haven’t said it yet today, I’ll say it now – I’m super grateful for you.

Write about ice cream, and fun things like food, and friends, and young love with ice cream, and nut sacks, and goofy friends, and how your coworkers dance like freaking zebras 🙂 I am honored to call you friend, always….how about drivers who don’t use their blinkers and stop for children in the road…now whats up with that? Just kidding of course….i like to beep and wave at them…..good god, now I sound psychotic….. just kidding….have an amazing day and I know you will write something good, you always do…..

I swear, you must be the long lost sister I was supposed to have… because I can completely feel every single thing you’re talking about in this post. I had a very similar experience, unfortunately. I have my own B. My oldest sister is the biggest bitch I’ve ever known… and she did to me exactly what your brother did to you. She snooped all over my room and found my journal… and it was hidden under my bed, under a box of books. You couldn’t even see it. It was a bit strenuous to move the book-box, too. She must have spent some time looking. Bitch. And she read it… and she started blabbing things from it at dinner one night… in front of my whole family. Mom, Dad, my other 2 sisters… and I started having friends of hers at school make comments to me so I knew she told them all, too. Humiliating.

I’m very happy that you found support here… and friends. We all need it and I know exactly how hard it is to come by offline.

Dang Sandra, so many experiences we share in common. I’m sorry that happened to you – that’s some humiliating shit. I don’t think people give enough credit to childhood humiliation and depression. Whew!

New to blogging, a short time reader of your thoughts, I related to “Never felt good enough or safe enough” I have had blogs, started them spent time on them, and been ready to go, and then those nagging hamsters in my head stop, and say, “WAIT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? WHAT ABOUT THE PEOPLE?!” I have been smashing hamsters like Whackahamster one at a time, but it is still rough. Thank you for this post, oh and I find leaving my written thoughts I am most fearful of discovery with my therapist….best hiding place ever!

Write your heart out, YES. I’m reading a memoir by the widow of Osip Mandelstam, persecuted and murdered by the Stalinist regime. Hope Against Hope. A great book, one doesn’t really have words for it. But. It feels salutary to be reminded that in certain times, in certain places, writing your heart out can get you killed. Perfectly so. It’s our valley of freedom in the shadow of death (or the state, or our job, our family etc). Sharing that space of inward freedom is scary but in the end it can extend the freedom of those with you whom share; and their enlarged freedom returns in turn to you; and that is how true community (or culture) is created (online or not, Diane).

Ja, like everybody else says, you’re a terrific writer, always a pleasure when you pop in my inbox 🙂

My step mom always tells me I’m a strange older brother. You see she has one daughter and three sons, while my family had me (the best son of them all) and my three sisters. Her sons tormented her daughter apparently, they were jerks to her and I guess…she assumed all brother were like that. Then she moved into my house and yea I mess with my sisters, but never in a terrible way. The worst thing I’ve done is bear hugged them too tightly. Never really felt the need to search for their diary or had a Bitch friend to make fun of them with. This could possibly be due to the fact that they could all kill me…who am I kidding…it’s totally because they could kill me. ‘Respect through fear’ my sisters motto’s.

Holy shit Steph It took 10 minutes to allow that. I am in so much turmoil and I think you are also. I can’t burden you all I can do is support you. Hell I would have to where you said to take care of you as I worry Though I have asses I get DR, bills and more and think I am capabable as 14 slipped discs is fun. Thought if with the right woman it is while loving them.

THANK YOU! That boy was my ROCK right up until around that time. For years after, he cycled between absolute raging dick and being the only person who would genuinely try to understand me. I’m afraid he’s finally settled into raging dick about 90% of the time (hence why we no longer have a relationship).

Thank you, Beeps…love reading you, too! And I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much lately. ❤

No need to apologize, Stephanie! Like you don’t have a lot on your plate right now! And I’m not exactly on top of things when my inbox keeps creeping into the 50s of unanswered and unread notices.

Damn it, my other brother sounds a bit like yours. We were tight for a while, but he lost his mind somewhere. Used to be a guy who’d think and discuss. Now he’s just someone who’s made up his mind and doesn’t want any arguments. ❤

Ooh, that reminds me….I don’t think I ever officially broke up with my 4th-grade boyfriend. I remember sending him the “will you go with me” note and being sooooo happy when he circled “YES”. (Not because he was cute…he was the only one I thought I had a chance with….BUT HE SAID YES!)

Excellent. I had trouble with journals as well. And not just journals, but saved documents. Invasion of privacy is too tempting for certain people.
Shortly before I got married, in an act of good feng shui, I tore out some pages, kept those, and burned the rest. Don’t regret it, either. I did it a few weeks earlier than planned, since a nosy acquaintance had more or less demanded to clean my house and cook a dinner that would be waiting when I returned from North Carolina with my then fiance. My roommates thought it was an awesome idea (no doubt they didn’t wanna clean while I was away, haha!)
There is no way she wouldn’t have read every word, maybe made some photocopies, passed them around…ugh. I’m glad she isn’t around anymore. Dinner was much nicer that night, knowing that she didn’t find anything good when she snooped 😉

Dear gods this speaks to me on such an intense level. I, too, have a love/hate relationship with journals and a tendency to scrap every blog I’ve ever started (though my reasons are usually based in acute paranoia and a nagging perfectionism).

Real-life snoops can be the worst! A few years ago I fell out with my roommates and for MONTHS this little stalker would lurk my blog–pages and pages back in my archive. I knew it was her because I put an IP tracker in the layout code. I’m just like, “Bitch what are you even LOOKING FOR?!” She spent thirty minutes going back five pages on I forget if it was Thanksgiving or Christmas but I was just like, “What? Why?” I hadn’t even posted anything in a month.

She wanted to make sure I wasn’t talking shit about her, because everything everyone does revolves around her. Even though I later learned from a mutual friend that the ENTIRE TIME she was telling me I better not mention her on my blog (which had a grand total of, like, 50 readers, none of whom had any idea who she was), she was putting me on blast on Facebook to some 500+ people, many of whom I actually knew and would have to see on a regular basis.